Sherlock Pan
by EastCanada
Summary: Have you ever wondered why Sherlock is so special? Why Mycroft doesn't look like Sherlock? Well his story begins with that of another boy, a boy who never grew up. But what if he did. And he had a single son.


Wendy Pan was in pain, she was in labor. She howled in pain once again as her husband, Peter frantically clutched at her hand and his own, already in her grip that was quickly turning a dark shade of purple-blue. Peter groaned and Wendy turned to him with a snarl upon her porcelain features. Wendy was what most would call beautiful but what others would call bright. She had milky white features and raven black wavy curls that fell in just the right fashion around her face and down her shoulders, but right now those curls were plastered to her forehead with sweat and her skin flushed. She screamed once again but this time the piercing cry of a newborn infant joined hers.  
The wail was strong and heavy, the wail of a fighter thought Peter as he gazed upon the face of his son. The baby had his mother's dark curls and her milky white skin, but the high cheekbones and flicker of whimsy in his eyes were his father's.  
"Sherlock." Wendy whispered, lovingly at her baby boy. Peter cocked his head to one side in confusion.  
"Huh? What do you mean, Wendy?" He asked and Wendy rolled her eyes at him and gestured to their son.  
"His name is Sherlock Atticus Pan." She explained as Peter's face brightened.  
"That's a great name, Wen!" He cooed, as he tickled Sherlock's tummy, making the baby grin as wide and as Lynx-like as his father. Peter suddenly remembered and ran to the door, wrenching it open to reveal another room packed to the brim with people. There were seven men and one woman, all of them were striking in appearance. Of the seven men, one of them was a sixty year old with graying hair and a salt and pepper goatee, dressed in a suit, the rest were all men in their late twenties to early thirties, all seeming to be at least a few years younger than Peter who was himself, thirty four. They were all dressed in matching pin striped suits. The single woman was a sixty year old as well with dyed blond hair and kind blue watery eyes. Peter got ready to bellow at the top of his lungs.  
"IT'S A BOY! HIS NAME IS SHERLOCK!" He crowed, like the so many times he did as a child. The whole room leapt to their feet to see the new arrival excitedly. They all piled into Wendy's room, Sherlock swaddled in a blue blanket and resting safely in her arms. Peter galloped over to stand beside her, puffing his chest out proudly like a peacock.  
Everyone came up to see Sherlock, one at a time and Peter greeted them all by name, Slightly, Tootles, The Twins, James, Tubby Ted, Molly and George Darling. They all looked at Sherlock who was being clutched tightly by Wendy and all commented how much he was like Peter. Peter was excitedly answering them but suddenly fell silent, he moved quickly and silently to the large window beside Wendy's bed. "Strange, I thought I heard so-" Peter was cut off as the window was shattered behind him and he was shoved out of the way by a rope ladder full of pirates who piled into the room, and at their head, was a tall man with a missing hand, long dark hair, a dark mustache and cold, venomous eyes. Captain Hook.  
"Pan." Hissed Hook as he looked at Peter, eyes studying him and Wendy, more specifically the baby boy in her arms. "That your boy?"  
"Yes. His name's Sherlock, cod-fish. Why are you here? Get out." Peter snarled, ripping his sword from his waist, no longer the wooden sword from his childhood, but an honest to goodness steel sword.  
"As much as I'd enjoy fighting with you, Pan. I have a different approach. Smee!" Yelled Hook as Peter whipped around to see a knife pressed against Wendy's throat. And several pirates tying up his friends.  
"No! Leave Wendy and Sherlock alone Smee!" He cried then felt a white hot pressure behind his eyes and a searing pain in his chest as Peter crumpled to the ground, the hilt of Hook's sword buried in his back and the tip protruding from his chest.  
"PETER!" Shrieked Wendy as Sherlock was ripped from her arms by Smee and the infant tossed to Hook. All of them piled out the window then, onto their ship to plunge into the night. But they had forgotten a crucial thing, a crucial someone, a fairy named Tinkerbell. She had flown from the room as fast as she could and was shaking as much fairy dust as she could onto the spiteful man. He bellowed with a cry and dropped Sherlock. The child fell, until with Tink's remaining fairy dust, she carried the child to a mansion nearby.  
She left the child on the doorstep and rang the bell frantically, then as if remembering something she took a sharp rock and carved into the dirt nearby, the name 'Sherlock'. As the door opened, she flew into the nearby bushes.  
A young woman opened the door, no older than thirty five, with pinned up long golden blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in a bathrobe, a young boy maybe five or six clutching onto her leg.  
"Mummy? What is that?" Asked the boy, gesturing towards Sherlock as his mother picked him up, she let out a tiny, almost inaudible gasp.  
"It's a baby boy." She spoke with reverence and wonder.  
"Mummy I think his name is Sherlock." The boy whispered, pointing at the dirt.  
"Very well deduced Mycroft. Your father will be proud. In fact, lets go introduce him to your new little brother, Sherlock." She said smiling as she took Mycroft's hand and carried Sherlock into the house.

Should I continue this?


End file.
